


Prefer to Text: Part III

by Roth1900



Series: Prefer to Text: The Series! [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Flirting, M/M, Sexting, Teasing, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:50:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roth1900/pseuds/Roth1900
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys like to write. One texts, one blogs, and neither of them talk out loud about the feelings they share... oh, and this time John does the gayest thing ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prefer to Text: Part III

**Author's Note:**

> I recommend reading the whole set. Some references won't make sense otherwise.

John was texting from his bed. He had one hand on his phone and the other playing with the hair leading down from his navel. 

_Want me to shag you? -JW_  
 _Constantly. -SH_

Sherlock was texting while lounging on the couch. One hand on his phone, the other stroking his collar bone with those damnably long fingers.

_You looked sexy today. You’re the only man to do cardigans justice. -SH_  
 _I look sexier now. -JW_  
 _Tell me... -SH_  
 _Briefs. -JW_  
 _God save me from John Watson. -SH_

John fell asleep that night with one hand down his pants and a cell phone on his chest. 

Sometimes the texts were related to The Work, sometimes they were teasingly sexual, but every so often, the texts they sent were vulnerable and gentle and meant to be read in a whisper instead of a purr. 

_If I were a woman, would you have had me already? -SH_

John hesitated before he sent his reply. He didn’t want to hurt Sherlock, but he also knew that he couldn’t lie to him and get away with it.

_If you were a woman? Yes, I would have. -JW_

Sherlock, for his part, did not pout or protest... though he did try to shatter the man’s heterosexuality one text at a time...

_Tell me you don’t think about that night at my bedroom door. -SH_  
 _I could, but I’d be lying. Happy? -JW_  
 _Not in the least. Would be happier if you came out here with no shirt on. -SH_

John strolled down the steps a few minutes later in only his jeans and a belt. He was thick through the chest, strong through the shoulders, and slender in the hips. The bones of his feet flared out with every step as he padded into the kitchen and set about his daily routine. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow up at him and watched out of the corner of his eye. There was something hypnotic about the scar on his shoulder and the dip of his abdomen. He did his best not to stare.

John was leaning against the kitchen counter in all of his half-naked glory as he typed out: 

_Better? -JW_  
 _Much. -SH_

John sleepily smiled at his phone and waited for the kettle to boil. 

_You look delicious. -SH_  
 _Not compared to you. -JW_

Sherlock shifted in his seat and just watched as John prepared tea and toast. His muscles flexed and bunched under his skin and the trousers he wore fell lower when he stretched his torso up, much farther than was strictly necessary to reach the mug that was on the topmost shelf. The view it gave Sherlock was enough to make him swallow back a groan of desire.

_Your skin. -SH_

It was all he could manage to write. 

_You’re blushing. -JW_

Sherlock excused himself to his room. John finished his toast and donned a jumper. It was a good start to the day in his opinion.

_Do you comprehend how impossible it is to control myself around you? -SH_  
 _No... -JW_  
 _You’re a distraction, John. The only one I will put up with. -SH_

John felt a flutter of pride at that. He found that he quite liked being the Only Consulting Detective’s Only Distraction. He briefly considered making business cards.

The next morning he awoke to another request from Sherlock: 

_No shirt, athletic shorts, trainers. -SH_  
 _I’m not twenty two and cut anymore, Sherlock.- JW_  
 _No. You’re better. -SH_

So, he obliged, and was pleased to find that he didn’t look all that different from his military days, if a bit softer around the edges. His legs were still sinewed and his hips still tight. He took a shirt down with him, just in case. 

Sherlock was wearing his pyjama bottoms low slung and a ridiculously old and well worn shirt which happened to be flipped inside out.

_Well who is delicious now? -JW_  
 _I only aim to please. -SH_  
 _You never aim to please. -JW_  
 _...it sounded good though, didn’t it? -SH_

John let out a bark of a laugh and set about making his breakfast. His eyes kept drifting to Sherlock.

“Your shirt’s on wrong,” he mentioned as casually as he could manage.

“Is it?” Sherlock asked lightly, knowing that it would drive John who was former military and an impeccably crisp (if terribly fashioned) dresser would notice. 

_You should take it off. -JW_

Sherlock’s phone buzzed against the counter. “Oh, should I?”

“Did you even look at your phone?” Mock annoyance clung to every word.

“No,” he said, smirking.

John shook his head in wonder, a smile on his face. There was a moment, as he sidled up closer to Sherlock and before his fingers curled around the fabric at his flatmate's hip, when he fleetingly thought: This isn't gay.

John Watson was wrong. 

It may have been the way neither man broke eye contact, or the hitch in John’s breathing when his fingers grazed the pale, taut skin of Sherlock’s sides, or maybe the pulse in John’s groin when he watched Sherlock’s pupils dilate out of pure lust; regardless of what it was that triggered the realization, the fact remained that John was now doing the gayest thing in his thus-far-hetero life.

He slowly peeled the fabric up and watched as each tantalizing inch became exposed to him. First the sharp cut of his hip bones came into view, then the dip of a belly button, then the muscled abdomen that was so much thicker than John would ever have dreamt became visible. John ignored as best as he could the pulsing of his blood thick in his veins. He stepped forward to get more leverage, but still found himself too short.

Sherlock bent slightly at the waist to accommodate their difference in height. When he stood upright, he found that they were closer now, bare chests just inches apart. John’s was flushed. Sherlock’s was erratically taking in breath.

Both men were staring. Their eyes were alternating between parted lips, dilated pupils, and panting chests. Sherlock's eyes drifted lower.

“Uh... here,” John swallowed roughly as he lamely pushed Sherlock’s t-shirt into his hands, hoping to distract him.

Sherlock, for all his composure, couldn’t help but drag his thumb across John’s knuckles in that instant. The electricity that shot through them at that simple touch made the good doctor shudder and close his eyes against the touch. 

Both men dropped the shirt to the floor. John dropped it in shock; Sherlock in opportunity. He dragged his fingers over the thin skin of John’s wrist, exploring the flesh that was no longer off limits to him. John could feel his breath coming in gasps, but could do nothing to deter it now that the long fingers of his best friend were teasing his pulse point so wantonly. 

“John...” Sherlock’s voice rumbled low as he found the pulse there, belying more than their actions John’s true feelings. John had a flash of Irene Adler pass behind his lidded eyes. He remembered suddenly how transparent she had been to Sherlock when her own pulse was taken. He quickly shook free of Sherlock’s grip and took a few unsteady steps away from him. He had to bat away the fog that had settled around his brain.

“John?” The rumbling sex of his voice was replaced with vulnerability. 

He searched Sherlock’s face for the briefest of moments. “I-” 

Both men jumped when the toast popped up behind Sherlock’s back. 

“I’m going to change.”

John meant his clothing. Sherlock hoped he meant something else entirely.


End file.
